A Sea of Darkness
by The Nurse 0495
Summary: When asked to write about her life for a project for work, Abby remembers what life was like when she was 13.
1. The Story Begins

**A ****Sea**** of ****Darkness******

Summary: When asked to write about her life for a project for work, Abby remembers what life was like when she was 13. 

Disclaimer: I don't own ER…yadda yadda….I don't own Abby…My friend owns a rat named Abby…I own a stuffed dog named Abby…yadda yadda…I own all of the characters except the doctors mentioned, Abby, Eric and Maggie. Is that enough?

Spoilers: Maybe for season nine, but I don't think so.

Rating: PG (I think I say the 'D' word)

Archive: Sure, but I gotta get that email first

A/N: I'm in a writing mood. I like the name Abby. And so, this story was written. R&R, or I will never write again. (And that might be a good thing, you know) My very first Fanfic.

*****

**A ****Sea**** of ****Darkness******

Chapter one: The Story Begins

 There are things in my life I'm not proud of. When I think back, I actually wince, because the memories are so fresh in my head. The bad ones always stay. But to be honest for once, if I had the choice, I wouldn't take those things back. They made me who I am. And, although sometimes I hate myself, deep down I know that I wouldn't want to change.

I have the ability to conveniently forget those memories. If you just keep pushing them back, they'll stay back. 

Unless of course you are forced to remember these memories, write them down and read them out loud to your colleagues.

Which is exactly what I had to do that rainy day when no patient showed up at the ER. Damn you, safe drivers.

I respect Dr. Weaver very much, but this idea was bad. For me, anyway. I know that some people love to talk about their lives. But, looking at my friends faces, I concluded that nobody in particular wanted to write, let alone talk about their lives. I know for a fact that Carter, despite the rich-boy background, doesn't really like to talk about his parents, his brother. I know Susan and her sister aren't exactly close. I doubt Luka really wants to tell everyone how his family died. Nobody wants to think like that. 

Except Dr. Weaver.

I decided that, despite the fact I sometimes felt sorry for myself, I really hadn't the worst background. Far from it. Things were always rough, heck, they still are, but it wasn't so bad. It was just different to what most people were used to. Looking back, at memories that are so fresh in my head, it's…I don't know. It was sort of bittersweet. 

We all sat around a big table. I tapped the table with my fingers, a nervous habit I'd developed over the years, until Susan told me to stop before I broke the table. I'm amazed that she still manages to keep a still head. I've heard her talk to her sister. It's no walk in the park. She is a very good friend, one of the ones that only comes along once or twice in a lifetime. 

Friends were sort of scarce for me. I wasn't exactly the friendliest person, and for the most part I was just the weird girl in the corner. Not that I cared. I was not trusting enough to let anybody into my life. People would take one look at me and run, fast. 

I figured out over the years that teachers are pretty stupid as they go. And they think _I'm _stupid. They'd go off on some talking lecture thing, and naturally I would tune it out, preferring to wonder what brand of shoes Molly Jones, head cheerleader and rich girl, was wearing and how much they cost. Or looking at my desk and wondering how old the etches and scratches were, and who inflicted such abuse to the poor desk. And of course, I was the one the teachers all looked out for. It was all I could do to not take the yard stick and shove it down one of their throats. You could see it in their eyes when I walked in, they'd follow me with their gaze. They'd watch me the minute I came in until the minute I left. If I so much as dropped a pencil, detention was in order. It didn't really seem fair.

It also didn't seem fair that the teachers always called on me, like they thought I didn't know the answers. I didn't even have to listen to the lectures; I already knew what they were going to ask and the answers. My intelligence wasn't a problem. 

My attitude was.

The teachers were bothered by the fact that no matter what subject, I always did lousy schoolwork. They knew I was better than that. I was. But, I liked to be the right one. When they thought I would do well at a test, I would fail miserably. This kept up until my teacher wanted to quit teaching and go into turtle breeding. Then suddenly, my marks shot up, on account of I was mysteriously smart now, and the teacher almost turned insane. It was quite fun to bug them. Not with words, I never talked to them. Not with behavior, I didn't do anything. But with these mind games they didn't get, and would never get. I was too sly for grade eight. 

It gave me quite an advantage. There were times I could do things, things like toss all the science books out the window or break all the chalk in the room, and then make it look that I had been an innocent spectator of these horrible crimes. It was pretty entertaining.

After school, I always had to find Eric, because God knows all the stuff he can get into. Like dying the neighbor's poodle red. Like managing to break three windows with one baseball. Like making the Barbie dolls go 'swimming' in water hot enough to melt them. It was a never-ending list of mischief. 

But I always looked forward to seeing him. He was the only thing right in my life. We were probably closer than any of the other siblings in the world. We didn't have a dad, half of the time we didn't have a mom. It was just us. I practically raised him. 

And nobody messed with him, because they'd have _me to deal with. Nobody wants that._

Evenings for me were basically two things: good or bad.

The good didn't happen often, and when it did, it you thanked the stars. Maggie would somehow manage to stay out of the liquor, go to the store, buy food and act like Mom. She would be clear-headed and happy. That was good.

The bad were the opposite of the above. By nightfall I would usually be locked in my room, staying away from the wrath of the woman wielding something dangerous. 

My solace was books. There were some classics I'd read, some old ones, new ones, long ones, short ones. In each story, the main character usually ended up as a hero or heroine of some sort. No book ever told the story of a girl, her little brother and her crazy mom. What a story it would be. And here I was writing one for work, many years later.

Dr. Weaver announced that she wanted a friendlier work environment. 

I thought we might have to do some work of some sort. I was right, sort of.

She wanted us to 'write about events in our life, and state reasons why you became a healthcare provider.' I can basically describe the reaction as 'bad'. 

Carter asked if we had a choice. Romano was there to give a very good answer: No.

I felt like I was in school again. Only I'm older. In years. Even by grade eight, I acted probably too mature for my age. Did I really have a choice? I couldn't act foolish or giggly like Molly, if I did; my home life and Eric were at stake. I couldn't just decide to go out with somebody after school; I had to get home right away, so long as we still _had _a home. Sometimes the rent was late. Mom had to work like two jobs at once. I had trained Eric to manage to get jobs doing housework and stuff for my neighbors, many of whom were elderly. Cute little boy + Older person who doesn't get visited often = Lots of jobs and money. I'm good at math. And heavy duty housework. 

So, now I had to write about my life. That was the hard part.

The whole doctor/nurse thing was sort of easy. I wanted to become one because…well, for starters, I was going to show everyone a thing or two about my intelligence and attitude. But, there had to be a better reason than that. Maybe I didn't even know. Maybe it wasn't so simple

****

Two Weeks Later

****

We are seated at that big table, again. I trace the decorative lines on it with my finger. There is defiantly tension in the air, because I think nobody wants to read the stuff they had to write. What's supposed to happen is, everyone wrote about their lives and when we read out our compositions, people are supposed to know you better. Yeah, right. I doubt that people are that naïve. More likely this will just create some gossip and problems. But really, do I ever complain? 

Dr. Weaver tells us that we have to read in order of the alphabet by first name. For the tenth time in my life, I wish my name was Zora. Zora is a really nice name. I like it anyway.

Dr. Weaver tells me to read my paper. I want to tell her to shut up, but I don't, of course. That would just add to the tension.

"I decided to write about my life when I was 13." I explain. It really wasn't that hard. If I had to choose a time in my life that I found interesting, provocative and sincere, that would be it. 

"So, uh, here it is. Oh, and I call it 'A Sea of Darkness'" I take a deep breath and start to read.

*****

A/N: So, are you going to review? Are you, Are you, are you, are you?

Is my stuff good? Do you think I'm good enough to write ER myself, or bad enough to leave fanfiction.net forever? Well, how about letting me know by pressing the button known as review? Say it with me. Review, review, REVIEW!

P.S: I don't own Barbie. Somebody else does.


	2. Summer Skies

**A ****Sea**** of ****Darkness******

Disclaimer: See previous page

Rating: PG 

Archive: Sure, email first

A/N: Black Beauty Belongs to Anna Sewell. I don't own Barbie. I don't own Barbies. Ok?  My very first Fanfic.

*****

Chapter two: Summer Sky

People always think they know who I am. They take one look at me and think 'she who smokes and drinks and does other things that are ten times worse'. But, at 13, I was not like that. I probably would have been had I not a family I had to take care of.  People just didn't know the real Abby behind all my sarcasm and toughness. It was the way I wanted it. It was the way I had to be.

*****

This is now set from 13-year-old Abby's POV

*****

She had done it again. Forgotten to take the medication. I am sick of having to try and get her to take it before she killed me. Really, she is a likable person, she has a great personality, and it wasn't the disease that makes her so crazy. It's due to a number of things. Like, I try not to be hard on her. It's not her fault she had what she had. But she isn't responsible. She doesn't take the medication. She drinks. When Dad left, she just ignored everything for like, a week. 

It gets on my nerves. 

I'm not a nice person when things get on my nerves. 

"Mom." I say for the fifth time, "Take the medication."

"Abby." She says for the fifth time, "I don't need you to tell me how to live my life."

"I'm not. I'm just telling you to – "

"I don't need it."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Fine." I give up. I know what's coming. It happens every week. Mom will freak out, chase us around for a bit, then drop everything and leave for a few hours. When she comes back, she's as good as new. By which I mean she's as good as she was before, and that's certainly not good.

Finding no sense in staying, I decide to go see what Eric's doing. It's always something. He's eight. He's a bit energetic. 

Tonight was the night I had to say goodbye to Barbie before she managed to get melted in the microwave. Buhbye, Malibu Barbie.  It wasn't like I cared. 

"Hey Eric, do you have homework?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I – well, maybe a little bit. But it's math. I hate math."

Somehow, I recall that I said that too, when I was eight.

"So, you still have to do it. I'll help you." Five years later, I figured I could help out with his math.

"Okay." He reluctantly agreed. "But first, Josh has a date with the microwave."

"Hold it. What did you call that doll?"

"Josh."

"Uh." I tried to decide if he was old enough to be thinking like that. The doll was a girl, after all. It was quite obvious. This was _Barbie_.

"Josh is in my class at school. I don't like him. He's mean." Eric explained. I was quite relieved. 

"What does he do to you?"

"He says our family is crazy and I was a mistake."

"Tell him to shove it. If he says it again, I'll punch him in the mouth." I said tiredly. I'm so used to having to do that to people. It was second nature to me. 

"Okay." Eric usually agrees with me. 

"And Eric, how about you leave the microwave alone and we can find something to eat?"

"Okay." I'm thankful he listens to me. He's like my shadow. 

He follows me right into the kitchen and manages to knock right into me when I stop at the sink. The reason I stopped was because dishes were piled up in the sink, not done of course. 

God, would it kill her to just do the damn dishes?

"Eric, find some bread or something, I'll be back." I tell him, guiding him by the shoulders to the cupboard. 

I walk out to the balcony. The early-summer sky is just beginning to set. I like summer because there is more day than night. Also, there are some awesome thunderstorms in summer. You know, when they sky gets all grey and the air is sort of humid and then the thunder rumbles like the world is coming to and end? I like rain. 

Summer is also good on account of school ends. We only had a week or so left. Then it was freedom. It was better for me, I could watch over the house more. There were no crappy teachers or stupid kids at home. 

For most people, summer means vacations. There is no way in hell I'm ever leaving this city with this family again. 

For instance, we were going out once, I forget where, I was only seven, and we had to take a plane. Airplanes are big and intimidating, but I was adventuresome and didn't think they were so bad.

Apparently, Mom did.

We never even took off. She had a freak-attack and almost killed one of the pilots or someone. And I have never heard someone say so many bad words in one hour. I was very embarrassed, obliviously, and so my resolution to never, ever go out in the summer. 

 Mom's there, out on the balcony, leaning on the railing, smoking a cigarette and holding a beer like it's the most important thing in her life. I'm surprised that she might have used to hold me or Eric like that.  She's looking over the edge with a hopeless expression. I hear you, sister. 

The bottom is very far down. When you look straight ahead, you can see the tops of a lot of the buildings around the block. It's very interesting to just sit and watch what goes on. I find you can learn much about life when you shut up, sit down and listen.

"Don't jump!" I say to her by way of greeting. I find that if I don't say anything threatening, she won't say anything threatening. 

"Mmm." She answers. Okaaay, that's understandable. I'm going to translate it as 'I'm the worst bloody person in this horrible world' and my guess is I'm correct, judging on her expression. 

"You shouldn't smoke." I tell her.

"I don't do it around you." She mutters. 

"You used to. Remember when Eric – "

"What do you want?" She asks. I think I made her mad. 

"The dishes are all dirty. Could you –" I decide against asking for help.

"Never mind. Enjoy your cigarette. Call me when you can't breathe."

"Abby!" she says sharply. I went too far. I know I'm not supposed to mouth off to adults, but I can't help it. It comes out before I can think. 

Luckily for me, she's had five too many bottles o' beer, and therefore can't see straight or dislodge herself from the railing. Or else I'd be dead. 

Edging my way inside, I find Eric peering at me nervously from the kitchen.

"Is she mad?"

"No."

"Is she crazy?"

"No."

"Is she – "

"Yes."

"Oh. Should we go to bed?" Poor Eric is terrified of Mom's little episodes. Frankly, I can't blame him. It is sort of scary when she waves a pair of scissors in your face and shouts until somebody comes to the door.

"Nope." I wave away his worried look with the wave of a hand. "We have dishes to do, dinner to make, and math to do."

"Great." Eric says. See, he takes after me. He already has my sarcasm. It took me thirteen years to get that.

Doing dishes is annoying unless you make it fun, as we often did. Nope, we didn't have any fancy dishwasher or anything. But we did have teamwork. 

That must count for something. 

I'd wash, and dry, and then toss the plate or whatever it was to Eric, who would put it away. 

It was all going good until the plate fell. Either my toss was bad, the plate wasn't dry enough, or he didn't catch it. It fell to the ground with a very loud _smash. When I turned around, the floor was literally glittering in shards of glass. I didn't figure it was a big problem. Apparently, it was._

"The plate fell!" Eric yelled at me. Since I sort of already knew that, I ignored him.

"Don't touch it. I'll clean it up." I told him. For once, he didn't listen to me, and the next thing I knew, there was blood on the floor along with glass.

"Eric! Dammit, why didn't you listen?" I rush over to him, yelping when I step on some glass. But, I'm going to ignore the pain until later. 

"Sorry Abby! I didn't mean to!" Eric cries, close to tears. Sometimes, I can be pretty mean.  

"Alright, its okay, it's okay. Come here and I'll help you. Where did you get cut?" 

Eric holds up his hand. It doesn't look good. There's a nice looking cut, at least two inches long. And it bleeds. A lot. 

But, I'm okay with blood.  Taking a wet washcloth, I wrap it around his hand. 

"Hold this on it for now, okay?" 

"Okay." He agrees. 

I find a broom and Eric finds a dustpan. We were sweeping the glass when Mom came in, swaying slightly and looking mightily pissed. 

"What's going on in here?" she yells. Eric sort of hides behind my leg, which makes me feel mad that he should have to do that. 

 "We dropped a plate that you couldn't clean. Sorry we were doing all the housework and made a mistake." I say.

"Don't talk to me like that!"

"It's the truth!" 

"Who dropped it?"

"I did." Eric says meekly. Suddenly, I can see something in my Mom's eyes that makes even me feel a bit nervous. It was rage, brought on by months of depression and self-pity, and that glassy look that alcohol will give you. Something snapped.

"Why can't you kids ever not break things? You're a goddamn nuisance!"

"We wouldn't break things if you would just –"

"Just what?"

"Take your medication, stop drinking, stop smoking, you name it!"

"Shut your mouth!" she says sharply. She does what I feared she would. That was taking a knife from the sink and waving it around dangerously. It was the first time she actually did what she threatened to do many times. That was 'one day I'm going to kill one of you'. I always took it as a mere threat, like, 'you'll have a year of detention' which never happened. I can tell you, when your own mother threatens you with a knife, you are very scared. What makes me even more scared is that she's not looking at me. She's looking at Eric. 

She's sort of yelling incoherent words, or maybe I just have the good sense to tune them out. She must be really depressed.

Right now, I'm standing about a foot away from him. She sees this as an advantage and lunges at Eric.

"Abby!" If that won't break your heart, you are heartless. Eric is calling me, his big sister, for help from his mother. The sound of his fearful voice makes me want to kill my mom with a shard of glass. 

I'm able to jump in front of him so that the knife slashes down my arm. It burns. But the pain only makes me madder. At the sight of my blood, Eric goes off crying. I don't blame him. I never would. I'm still standing in front of him.

Mom doesn't seem to care about us any more. As she smashes the rest of the dishes in the sink, I pull Eric to his bedroom.

"Listen." I state. "Stay in here and lock the door, alright?"

"Are you okay, Abby?" he asks fearfully.

"Of course." I lie. "How about I read you a story?"

"We were on chapter eight of Black Beauty."

"Okay."

He likes books too.

Twenty minutes later, I left the room, confident that all is well with Eric.

 Mom is crying, I think. I don't know or care. She looks up when I walk by her, but doesn't say anything. She just heads off to her room. 

This is when I feel the pain. Mental and physical. I'm so worn out. I go to the bathroom to fix my arm, which has only a shallow cut, not a deep one. But I look pretty stupid with bandage all up my arm. Which means I have to wear a sweater tomorrow. Which means I will be even more different than the rest of the kids in my school. Great.

You know how there are times, and you think, oh, whatever? But then when you look back, you remember those times and wish you could relive them, but you can't? Well, there were those times. I recall sitting out on the balcony, helping Eric with homework, faintly aware of the older kids playing basketball below us, watching the sun go down. Having Mom on a Good Day, when she was making dinner, and I was feeling, oh, what was it. Happy? 

I wish I could feel that way four hours later.  

*****

A/N: See the button, press the button.

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	3. Dark Seas

**A ****Sea**** of ****Darkness******

Disclaimer: See previous page

Rating: PG 

Archive: Sure, email first

A/N: My very first Fanfic.

*****

Chapter Three: Dark Seas 

 It was sometime during the night that I realized my tiredness wasn't just tiredness. It was the flu. Which is perfect. While Mom has a mid-life crisis or whatever the heck she calls it, I'm stuck feeling worse than dead and trying to maintain a healthy home life for Eric. He deserves it.

The summer heat does not feel good to a person who has the flu. I'm lying there, under three blankets and shaking so hard I'm surprised Eric doesn't realize. We sort of have a sixth sense for watching out for one another. I'm trying to focus in on the shadows that make their way through the window and spread across the walls. It's hard to focus when your stomach is turning and your head is dizzy. I'm trying to figure out what I did to deserve the flu. Okay, I lied to the math teacher. I told him my dog ate my homework. I don't even have a dog. But that was all. 

I'm hoping that this is just one of those one-hour flu things you hear about, and not one of the mutated bird flu diseases from Japan. I'm also hoping that this is not contagious. The only thing worse than having the flu is having a family member, i.e. little brother, who has it as well. 

  My head is pounding. _Knock, Knock, Knock._ Wait, it's not my head. It's the door. I glance over at the digital clock. Its blood-red numbers tell me its 1:30 in the morning, if my blurry vision serves correctly. 

I don't exactly live in safe-country, so when anybody comes knocking at your door in the middle of the night, you are as good as dead. Sorry, that was my negative attitude. I'm fairly negative about life and its components. My motto is basically: 'life blows so suck it up and deal with it."

The knocking is becoming more frantic. Grumbling some unrepeatable words under my breath, I try to make my way to the middle of the three doors in front of me. It's hard when they keep moving. I see Mom lurking in the shadows, but she makes no move towards the door. 

"Should – should I get it?" I manage to ask.

"Answer the door Abby." Okay, thanks for being concerned about my well-being, Mom. You're the best.

I unlock the chain on the door. It clatters noisily. I half turn the knob before the door is shoved so hard I think the hinges broke. And, since I'm behind that door, I get the ol' knob to the gut. 

Some guy is now standing in the doorway. He must be one of Mom's acquaintances from a bar. I know these guys. Armed with a leather jacket and about seven gazillion tattoos of different girl's names, they're about as bright as my goldfish. And my goldfish is dead. I miss you, Flipper. 

The guy mumbled something about "gun…police...." I didn't really have a clue what was going on. I wanted to go have two bottles of aspirin and then confess my sins and be redeemed of my health. Then I would join a convent and spend the rest of my years worshiping God.  Or I could go to bed. Whatever comes first.

The next thing I know, Mom's got a suitcase and is standing at the door beside Mr. Leather Jacket. 

They mumble some crap that I don't understand. The only words that hit me are "We…Leave…Now."

Mom always left us for a few hours at a time. But this was far different. It would be the first time I would be on my own for much, much longer than an hour.

"Where are you going?" I asked dumbly.

Mr. Leather Jacket looked at me with eyes that said 'I disapprove of your existence on this planet'. I can recognize that miles away. I get that look a lot.

Mom looked at me with eyes that said 'I'm drunk, don't piss me off.' I see those a lot too. 

She snaps, "Abby shut up. Duke was talking and you're always yapping. I'm going to have to punch your mouth shut." I'd like to see her try. In the state she was in, she was lucky to be standing. 

Mr. Leather Jacket announced that he was leaving and either she didn't or did come with him. 

Mom bent down and looked me straight in the face. The smell of alcohol is unbearable to me.

"Abby, I have one thing to say. Don't do what I've done. Go to school, be a doctor, get married. Do something with your life."

The man formally known as Mr. Leather Jacket snorted disapprovingly. I backed away as he rushed out the door. 

Mom was already out and down the hall when I suddenly realized that she was abandoning us. Like Dad had done. Was it my fault? I tried my best to be good. Eric was always good. It must be me. I've screwed up Eric's life because I'm an idiot. 

"Mom!" I called, racing after her. My legs are shaking for two reasons, I'm not sure I can get to her fast enough.

She ignores me. 

"Mom!" I manage to catch up to her near the elevator. Its name is Old Rusty, and if you lived where I did, you would see why. "What are you doing?"

"Abby, I told you –"

"No you didn't! You never talk to me."

"I have to leave."

"Why?"

She chose to ignore me.

"Mom, you don't have to do this! If you take your meds and go to the doctor, it would be okay!" It would never be okay.

"Abby, you won't understand –" she breaks off, crying. I roll my eyes. It's a habit. 

Why is she crying? My stomach threatens to tell Mom how I feel about her.

"Why are you leaving us?" I shout.

"Abby, you can't do this –"

"Why? What did we do?"

"You didn't. I'm leaving for you."

"What?" Either she was drunk, stupid or both. "Fine, I don't care. Leave me. But not Eric. Don't do it. He doesn't remember Dad." Her eyes are cast downward. "But he knows you. Mom, you are a screw-up, but he doesn't know that. He will if you leave. So don't!" I'm all out of pleads. 

"Hey kid, why don't you shut up? Is she always so loud?" Mr. Leather Duke asks. I want to kill him with my eyes. And if looks could kill, he would have been dead at least five times already.

Mom doesn't answer.

The elevator doors open. They sort of squeak open and the bell doesn't ring, it buzzes. Mr. Jacket Duke and Mom step in. The doors start to shut, and before I know it I'm between the doors, holding them open. Old Rusty squeaks in protest. 

"Don't do this Mom."

"Let go of the door."

"Please –"

"Goodbye." She says. And that was it. I let go of the doors and as they slid shut, my Mom disappeared from view. And my life. I stood, swaying slightly, staring at the spot they used to stand. I can't believe she just did that. 

I'm still in shock as I wander slowly back to the apartment. I tell myself to be very quiet, and upon opening the door, I try and avoid the creaky spots on the floor. If Eric wakes up, I'm in trouble. He doesn't like it when Mom leaves. I know how he feels. I feel the same. When she leaves, he won't leave my side until she comes back. Even if she comes back at 6:30 in the morning. He'll stay with me. He barely lets me escape to the bathroom alone. He stays in my bed and I read to him. Reading takes our minds off all the crap she does.

I feel like I'm going to pass out. I go out onto the balcony, holding onto the railing like my life depends on it. It sort of does. If I let go, I'm sure I'd fall.

Looking out, all I see is darkness. A deep, unforgiving sea that I feel I am drowning in. There are no lights cast from the stars or the moon. Just that sea of darkness. It's very deep. 

I let the summer wind blow my hair around, breathing deep to calm myself down. I can't fall apart because I have to be the Mom now. That sounds weird. But, upon thinking about all that's happened tonight, my thirteen-year-old mind can't handle it. And my stomach can't either. 

I rush into the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I shake my head and mutter "Why?" before I start to gag.

Soon, Eric comes in and holds back my hair for me. Because that's what brothers and sisters are for. 

******

A/N: Review. Thanks. 


	4. It's a Principle

**A ****Sea**** of ****Darkness******

Disclaimer: See previous page

Rating: PG 

Archive: Sure, email first

A/N: My very first Fanfic.

*****

Chapter Four: It's a principle

 My life officially sucks. I'm hopeless. This is hopeless. It's completely insane. 

I am not a happy camper.

Here's what's up: It's four in the morning. I've spent the last hour with my head in the toilet. I'm tired as hell. I have school tomorrow. Today. The sun is rising. It's sort of foggy or smoggy and the sky is grayish blue. A bird is singing and I want to shoot it for being so loud. Abby has the flu, darling, and Abby is going to have a breakdown if you don't shut up. I swear, I'm going to loose it. Mom's gone. I hate her. I will _never _be like her. 

I had to tell Eric what's up. I told him Mom went to a 'friends' house. I am so thankful he believed me and didn't ask anymore questions.

So now I have to worry about what the heck I'm going to tell him when she isn't home in a week. 

I'm dead. 

And I'm thirteen. I'm moody. This is so very depressing, I think sanity left an hour ago. 

And guess what? There's no milk! And no bread! Somebody shoot me now, please. 

I'm lonely. I'm always alone. I always have to do things by myself. Friends? Me? I've never used a sentence with the two words before. People are a little frightened by my, uh, ability to show my temper. I need anger management. So very depressing.

I want to wallow my sorrows away by watching the TV. Normal people do it like that, but I can't. I can't concentrate for more than six seconds. 

Plus, the sun is much more entertaining. It is, really. 

I sort of space out for the next four hours. Next thing I know, I'm sitting at the kitchen table, banging my head on the surface. I think I'll break the table and then use the glass to weld myself a new Mom. Or cut my wrists and plead for forgiveness. Or see how long it takes for me to hit one of the birds. My bet is four seconds.

I'm muttering some stuff. In my sleep-deprived stage, I don't really know what. Thinking about sleeping makes me tired. I put my head on my arms for one minute. The next, Heeeeeeere's Eric! 

I'm paranoid.

I'm tired.

I have bad language.

Children, that equals one surprised brother and one angry sister. 

"Abby?"

"Muummphsst."

"Uh, we have to go to school, right?"

I say the 'S' word and jump up. 

I think the fridge is broken. I'm stuck behind the fridge. The stuff in the fridge is going to be inedible stuff if I don't fix this. The problem is, I'm not a repairman. I'm a child. Actually, no, under the circumstances, I'm an adult. 

I experimentally fiddle around with the motor. No dice. 

Now my head is inside the fridge. I'm looking for food. I don't know what to eat. There's no bread, no milk, no eggs. I think we are banned from the store. There's no food. 

My new idea is that we move out to the country and raise food. Oh, but look, we've got school today. I'll move next week. 

The best I can come up with is fruit. I start cutting up an apple. I somehow cut my finger too. Now the only person who would want this apple would be a vampire. I think my neighbor's a vampire. 

Eric comes to investigate my cursing. He manages to step on my foot. 

I yelp. He looks at me strangely. 

Remember that glass from that plate? Yeah. I stepped on it. My foot hurts. A lot. If you've ever had glass in your foot, you know what I mean. If you haven't, pretend you know what I mean. 

Hobbling away, I grab a new apple and start again. Upon turning around, I notice that the vampire apple is gone. Great. My little brother is a vampire. 

Now I'm realizing it's too late to be thinking about vampires. I'm late for school. So is Eric, obliviously. Grabbing the apple, my bookbag and Eric all in one movement, I'm out the door in three seconds. In my head, I'm screaming that I have to walk four blocks to school. My foot is bleeding. I'm multitasking. I'm chocking on apple, limping and swearing all at once. Taa Daa! 

I wonder how I can be up at four in the morning and still be late for school. 

I'm suddenly realizing that apple was not good on a sick stomach. 

Thank you slow clock at school. I manage to slip into the classroom before the bell rings. No matter what people say, they still can't mark me as late. Ha ha. 

But I think I'm going to die at school. I have the flu; I really shouldn't be at school. My plan is to infect as many as I can before school ends. 

The teacher is talking about math homework. I'm realizing right now that I didn't do my math homework. Now I need an excuse. Oh, I have one!

The teacher frowns at me and asks where my homework is. I tell her my brother accidentally took it. She rolls her eyes and tells me to get it quick. She doesn't see the unfinished homework in my pocket. As soon as I'm out, I pick a corner in the empty hallway and finish in record time. After all, it was just _math_. Easy. Then I walk back into the room and hand it in. 

"That was fast." The teacher tells me.

"I couldn't wait to get back to class and start science." I tell her. I am banished back to my desk. Which means two steps backwards and one to the middle. 

I told you the teachers don't like me.

'Blah blah blah science blah blah blah hmm, I wonder how much Molly's shoes cost. Probably more than the rent on my apartment. Blah blah blah Abby. Abby. Abby!'

Oops. I was not thinking about science again. I was erasing the pencil marks on my desk and generally being an idiot. I'm never going to remember that the teachers hate me. So of course, she calls on me, expecting to use her 'you've got detention' look and make me look like a further fool. Too bad it's impossible. 

"A bioluminescent light source is light which comes from an animal which has certain chemicals in its body that supply energy for light." I say nonchalantly. 

"Uh..right." The teacher says. Abby: 262, Teachers: 0.  

Did I ever say that I was good at science?

I think I'm invisible. I wish I was invisible. If I wish it hard enough, just maybe my wish will come true. 

Alas, it doesn't happen that way for me. I seem to draw attention to myself. God knows how. 

It's lunch time, and I think that I'm going to be sick. Good old flu knows when to make me completely miserable. I'm sitting here, trying my best to drone out the noise and concentrate on the fact that they waxed the floors. 

"Hey Abby. Did they put your mom away yet?" Jason Morris asked. I hate him. He's more or less a bully. And like all of them, he was not a very smart one. 

"Bite me." 

"Can I?"

 I show him how I feel with my fist.

"Oh Abby, you think you're tough?" Yes. I do, in fact. He sort of hits me. Amateur. 

"I can't hit you. You're just a girl." He tells me like that's a bad thing.

"You must be afraid." I stare him in the eye. 

"I'd just get suspended."

"Like you care."

Jason gives me a death look and was about to say something, when the principal hurried over and told me to come with him. A bunch of the kids did the little 'ooo, you're in trouble' thing. Somebody stuck out their leg. The stupid kid thought I wouldn't see it. 

I deliberately step on it, and I heard a very satisfying yelp. Abby: 1908, Rest of the World: 0. 

The principal walks too fast. I'm limping and struggling to keep up with him. For some reason we're going outside. I'm getting nervous. The principal doesn't say anything, he just points to the roof of the school. The school is a two floor thing, but in one area, there is this porch thing. And so, the roof part of that is not very high up. 

Guess who is standing on the roof? No really, guess. 

Eric. 

There are two other teachers standing there, plus my principal. 

"Get him down. Now." The principal orders. He doesn't really give me a choice. 

I wander up to a shouting range and look up. The sun is burning my eyes. I'm going to melt. 

"Eric? What are you doing?" I yell up at him. The teachers standing behind me make me nervous. For a moment, I'm tempted to run. I've never ditched school before. But the heat is too hot, so I take the lazy way out and stay rooted to the spot.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He answers. Aw. He so got that attitude from me. 

"Being an idiot." I answer. One of the teachers sniffs and I am reminded that I'm in super big trouble. 

"Why are you up there?" 

"I'm waiting."

"For who?"

"Mom." 

Uh oh. I remember this. I've probably done it before. Kid gets in trouble. Kid's teachers call Mom. Mom comes for delinquent child. The thing is, it won't work this time. 

"I'm not getting down until she comes back!" 

Gulp. I slowly turn around, keeping my eyes on the ground. Oh, look, Mrs. Jarvis is wearing sandals. Who knew? 

"He's being a bit odd. You know, eight year old boy, big imagination. He wants attention."

"You always said lying was wrong, Abby!" Eric shouts at me. I forgot to teach him about the basics of being born to the most dysfunctional family on the face of the planet. Rule one: Lying is good when asked about family

The principal looks at me. 

"She left this morning to go to work. He has separation anxiety. He's very touchy about it."

"Really?"

"Yes." I hate the principal. He knows I'm lying. But he's going to make me admit it. 

It makes me mad when I realize that Eric pretended to believe me about where Mom went but he didn't actually believe me.

The principal looks at the other teachers with the look of amusement/pity/ 'Wow this kid has a messed up family'. 

I push my hair out of my eyes and shift nervously on the ground. The sun…is so…hot…I think I'm loosing it. 

"Eric, could you come down now?"

"No!" 

For somebody who is used to controlling weird situations, I am really not good at controlling this weird situation.

"Please?"

"Why should I?"

"Because." I state. I have no clue why. He really doesn't have to come down. There's no law anywhere that states that you are not allowed to sit on the roof of your school.

I could have gotten him down easily if there wasn't an audience watching me. 

I'm going to have to do the only thing I can think of.

"So long Eric!" I start to back away. "I have to leave now!"

He stares at me. He's too smart. He knows I'm lying. But I still continue to walk away. I just keep my head down and don't look back. 

Soon, I hear him get down and follow me. When I turn around the principal is gesturing for me to come with him. I follow, managing to grab onto Eric before he goes anywhere. I drag him behind me. 

The school is cooler than outside, but I'm still hot. Perhaps I know what's coming.

I automatically sit down in a chair in front of the principal's desk and push Eric down in the chair beside me. I manage to shoot him a death look. I have that look down to a tee. Combined with my flu-look, the death look really says something. 

The principal tells me he wants to 'talk' which means he wants to pry into my life and yell at me. Frankly, I don't really care. I'll just tune it out anyway. 

Glancing at the clock, I note it is 2:30, it is principle that the principal can't keep us past 3:00. Heh. Principle, principal.

 Time sure flies when you're stuck outside trying to coax your brother down from the roof. This is a chapter in my life I'm going to remember. 

My foot hurts. I'm realizing now that when I was walking away, I made the mistake of walking. I can feel the blood trickle out. Yuck. That's gross. 

Oh crap. The principal has been talking and I haven't been listening. I try and tune in.

"…disobeying the rules." Yeah, okay. _Blah blah  rules. Like I'm listening to that. _

"…phone call home" Uh oh. That gets my attention. The principal sees that.

"Is there a problem, Abby?" 

"No."

"Should I call home?"

"No."

The principal looks over at Eric, who is looking at me. 

"Mom's at work. You can't reach her. She just got transferred and I don't know her number yet. You could write a note. I'll give it to her."

Yeah, right. Like that will happen. 

"No, I think that won't be necessary. However, I am going to call the guidance councilor for you."

"Me?"

"And your brother."

"Why?"

"Just to sort some things out." The principal tells me. I know what he actually means is 'to figure out your home life, declare you freaks and send you to live with somebody else.'

I can't let that happen.

I won't let that happen

Ever.

Even if I have to stay home from school. Even if I have to beg for money. Even if I have to find a new apartment. I'm determined to keep life normal as possible. I am sure I can handle this. 

The bell rings. Even to my flu-ridden head, the bell sounds good. I grab Eric and practically shove him out the doorway. 

I'm gone before the principal can say 'detention.'  


	5. Thicker Than Water

**A ****Sea**** of ****Darkness******

Disclaimer: See previous page

Rating: PG 

Archive: Sure, email first

A/N: Sorry it took so long, I sort of put off the writing for a little while. I had no ideas.  So this chapter sort of sucks. 

*****

Chapter five: Thicker than Water

 "You are such an idiot!" I yell. 

Eric just looks at me. The summer sun is so hot. We're walking down the street, or rather, the sidewalk. A bus just drove by. The fumes are making me choke. I coughed so much, I think I'm going to faint. Plus, I'm yelling. Loud. I don't really care who hears me. 

Eric waits until I stop dieing before he talks. Then he only asks one question: "Why'd she go?"

The thing is, I have no answer for that. I always have answers. So it bugs me that I don't have one this time. I just look at him and yelp as my injured foot hits the ground.

*****

Eric's POV

*****

 She has that look on her face again. That uncertain glance and then she casts her eyes forward. She always does that when she doesn't know what to do. She did it the night the plate broke. She did it the night Dad left. She thinks that I don't remember that, but I do. I remember that she was there when they fought. I don't remember him. But I remember that she stayed with me through that awful night. 

She's my mentor. She's five years older than me, but she seems way older than that. I'll never catch up to all the stuff she's seen and heard. I'm so inexperienced at this life. She's not. 

When she doesn't know something, I get scared. But I guess I don't need to. I know that no matter what, she will fix everything. 

But something's wrong with her foot. She won't answer me when I ask her about it. She either rolls her eyes or pretends not to hear me or she changes the subject. It's because she stepped on the glass. And she stepped on it because she was trying to help me. I can't help but feel a little guilty. A lot, actually. I feel bad that she had nobody to go to when times were bad. I feel bad that sometimes I get into trouble. Sometimes, I'm really bad. She puts up with me though.

Today, I went on the roof of the school. I didn't want to be trouble, but I'm confused and so, I acted without thinking. Of course, Abby came to get me. But then she said she was leaving. I knew she wasn't, but at the same time, I was scared. So, I ran down to catch up to her. 

If she left, things would be horrible.

*****

Abby's POV

*****

The city sucks. It's so hot. The air is so thick, it's like I can't breathe. There's crime. It's scary.

We always pass these alleyways when we go home. I know to stay away from them. They're dark, and things hide in the shadows. 

I like to walk quickly by them. But this time, we didn't. Because Eric heard something. I told him he was imagining it and to hurry up. He just ran into the alleyway. So of course, I have t follow him. Into the dark. Without an adult. Just a girl and a younger brother. Does anybody besides me see a problem here? 

At least it's cool in the shade. I'm looking around. The coast looks clear. But then, something growls at me. Oh my God, there's a monster in this alley!

Hang on. 

How old am I? There's no monster. It must be a dog. Which is worse. I've heard of all the stories of dog bites. I've seen all the mean dogs. I live with a neighbor (the vampire) that has a big monster dog. I swear, it's an elephant. Its name is Jaws. It eats everybody's newspapers. He's a big pain. But, a big pain with sharp teeth and enough drool to fill a bathtub. So, we pretend we're overjoyed to read a soggy newspaper with teeth marks in it. Gah.  

I look for a weapon. I like the looks of the rusty pipe in the corner, but I'm not going near the corner. I wish I had a machine gun. That would be useful. Nobody would bug me at school if I had a gun. Nobody would try to get to us. I've never used a gun, but I know my aim is perfect. I am the champion of darts. 

A dart gun would be useful too. But maybe me, the angry 13 year old girl, should not have a gun. There are those stories of someone in school bringing a gun and going on a shooting rampage. Most people freak out, and get mad at the gunman, but I know how they feel. Like life sucks, it's never ever getting better, and there's nothing to live for anyway. So, why not take it out on some other people? I can't count the times I wish I could shoot some of the people I know. This scares me. I don't want to end up like those people. Like Mom. I don't want to be crazy, be panicked, be confused, and have to take medication. I know the disease is genetic. I just don't know if I have it. I can't tell. I wish I had a parent who would look out for me. But, oh look, they're both gone. 

Suddenly, I jump back because yellow eyes are staring at me through the darkness. Eric wanders over. 

"Lets go. Now."

"Abby, wait."

"What?"

"It's a cat." Eric points at the shadow beast. I've been freaking out over a cat.  A _cat._

"Meow." The cat tells me. 

It still won't move.  

We wait.

"Meow." It calls from the shadows. It hides in a box.

I don't want to go into a box. The cat might have rabies. 

"Meow?" It asks. Maybe it needs help. So I move the box. Oh my God, it's the cat from Hell. 

It just sits there. But its fur is all bloody. Its ear is torn. And I know why the cat can't move. One of its legs is, poor cat, missing! If I were that cat, I would have jumped in front of a truck long ago. It probably got attacked by a dog. That's what happens. I'm prepared to turn my back on it. It won't survive now. Will it? 

But then it whimpers, a sad sort of 'mrrow', and I know I'm not leaving without it. 

I take off my sweater. That's right, I was wearing a sweater. That's why I'm baking in the sun. Eric and I pretend I don't have gauze taped on my arm. I like pretending. I pretend I'm somewhere else, being somebody else, doing something else. I know I'm a little old for that, but when it's three in the morning and you're locked in a closet, and it's dark and stuffy, the only thing you can do is pretend. 

I go into doctor-mode. Like I did the other night. I don't know why I do it. I've never thought about the future, or a job, or anything. I just deal with the present. But, I seem to know what to do when somebody's injured. Maybe I could be a …doctor? A nurse? Nah. I would never make it through school to be one of those. I'm going to end up being a waitress or something. That's depressing. 

Man, am I negative.

"Here kitty kitty." I call the cat. 

"Come on." Eric calls the cat. 

The cat won't respond to me, but it responds to Eric. Stupid cat. That's why I never had a cat or dog. They don't listen to me. 

But still, this cat's cute. Even if it is dirty and gross. 

It can actually walk pretty well when it wants to. I gingerly wrap it in my sweater. Tightly. Because it might turn mean on me. Don't ask. I won't answer.

Eric gets to hold the cat.   

I get to watch him hold the cat. We're still walking along the sidewalk. The cat looks happy. 

"We should name it." Eric suggests. 

"Why?"

"Because it needs a name."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does. Everything needs a name."

He's using his little 'Life Lessons from the book for Fruits' again. _Everything _needs a name. And pink flowers look especially pretty with sparkles. 

"It doesn't need a name. We're not keeping it."

"Why not?"

"Because." Uh, I don't have a reason. Really. I'm bitter to all living things, but I'd like to keep the cat. It's just…it might belong to somebody. _It's not like it's stopped you before, a voice in my head tells me. Great. I'm hearing voices. And they're telling me to keep the three-legged feline. _

"It needs a vet. We can't pay for it. Sorry."

"Why did you put it in your sweater then?" Damn, he's smart.

"Because, we're just…going to feed it once. That's it. Then it leaves." I try and sound like I mean what I say.

"Thanks Abby." Eric tells me. 

That's how Leila joined our little 'family'. The name means 'Night Beauty.' I found that out in grade five when we did a project on names. I love names and they're meanings. My name, Abigail (but don't call me that!) means 'father's joy' 

I don't know if my name stands up to its meaning. 

Eric means 'Complete Ruler.' He's the king. Hmm.

The cat, believe it or not, was black. I'm not suspicious. I don't believe in ghosts or magic (Although, I do believe that something lives behind our fridge)

I've heard in England, that black cats are good luck. 

Leila is good luck. She's really only a kitten. I'm not sure what happened to her, but she was a mess. 

I got to wash her. Her nails were sharp. 

She really was pretty when all the blood and dirt was gone. She had big yellow eyes and midnight soft fur. She trots around on three legs like she's happy and doesn't care how different she looks. I wish we could all feel like that. People can learn from animals. 

She gives us distraction from the neighbors across the hall fighting. Or the nights darkness. She's a comfort cat. 

We were taking her upstairs when we were confronted by Jaws. He lies across the stairs so we have to jump over him. He just stays asleep. Until now. The scent of blood woke him up, and he came over to us, growling like an idiot. 

"Bad dog. Go home!" I yell at him.

He just growls and looks at the cat, who was peering out from under my sweater. 

The cat was brave. She reached out and scratched Jaws across the muzzle. And Jaws, being the tough guy that he is, ran away yelping. 

Leila proved herself worthy of being our cat, that's for sure. 

We took her to the apartment and cleaned her off. We gave her some water. We didn't have milk. She didn't care. Then she played with Eric. She was smart, and played fetch like a dog. Even though she only had three legs. I swear, she was grinning. She was smiling like she was happy that we found her. It occurred to me that maybe somebody dumped her. If I ever found out whom, I would shoot them dead. Poor kitty, just needs a family and a little love. Even if she is different. 

"She's a kitten, right Abby?"

"Right."

"Where's her family?"

"I don't know."

"Where's her mom?"

"I don't know."

"She's like us then."

"Huh?"

"She doesn't have a mom or dad. But she's happy."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Are you happy?"

"I guess. Are you?"

"Yes."

I'm not happy, I'm just… apathetic. I'm living because I have to, not because I want to. 

"Why is she alone?" Eric asked.

"I don't know."

"Did her mom abandon her?"

"I don't know."

"I bet she hates her mom, then." Eric said. Leila didn't appear to look hateful at the moment.

"Blood is thicker than water." I state, picking up Leila. It's _my _turn to hold her. I sit down because my foot feels bruised and sore. 

"What's that mean?"

"It means." I stroke Leila, "That family comes first. No matter what." Then I realize what I'm saying. It doesn't apply to me. Does it? 

"So, Leila shouldn't be mad at her mom?" 

I realize what I'm talking about. A cat and her mother cat. This is getting weird. 

"No." I don't think Leila has the intelligence to even be mad. 

"Okay." Eric leaves the room. Leila hobbles behind him. And I'm left to stare into the darkening room and think about what I said. I have to stay loyal to Mom, even if she is a complete screw-up. Even if she cut my arm with a knife, or ran away with someone. Even if she never showed that she cared about my well being, I have to stay loyal.

Blood is thicker than water.  

A/N: I have no clue what was up there. I like the name Leila though. 

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